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After their long and bitter exile in Egypt, the people of
Israel were faced with yet another challenge before they could
enter and settle the Land of Canaan: for forty years they
traversed the Sinai Desert, overcoming the last hurdles in
their path to the realization of their role of a holy people
in a holy land.
More than four hundred years ago, master Kabbalist Rabbi
Isaac Luria (the "Holy Ari") told his disciples
that the last generation of our current galut (exile)—the
generation which will merit to welcome the final and ultimate
Redeemer—will be the reincarnation of that very same
generation who journeyed through the desert. Moses described
that generation's ordeal as a trek "through the huge
and awesome desert... [a place of] thirst without water."[1] Examining our own spiritually arid environment, we find that
description evocative of the very challenges which face us
today as we stand on the threshold of Redemption.
A Quantum World
The first problem with our “desert” of today is
that it is "great and awesome." Like all adjectives,
the words "great" and "awesome" describe
a state of mind rather than an objective reality. It is true
that the earth's untamed wilderness covers more of its surface
than do its cultivated areas, but square mileage need not
be the ultimate measure of greatness. He who places quality
above quantity and views function as more significant than
form is not intimidated by the extent of a thing's physical
proportions. From such a person's perspective, those areas
of the earth where man has succeeded in harnessing the resources
of his environment and directing them to serve a higher end
are the truly "great and awesome" parts of our world.
These pockets of refined and realized potential, though but
a small fraction of the overall land mass, are far more "substantial"
than the undeveloped wilderness.
In contemplating the spiritual terrain of our world, one
can also make the mistake of being daunted by quantitative
superiority. "If our mission in life is to bring goodness
and harmony to our world," argues the galut-minded individual,
"it appears that hardly anything at all has been achieved
in our 3000-year effort. For each individual who lives righteously,
there exist many who don't; for every good deed that is done,
many selfish and destructive acts are committed. In our world,
the negative far outweighs the positive."
It is not the desert itself which we must overcome as much
as our own sense of its "greatness" and "awesomeness."
We must learn to look at content rather than numbers, to recognize
that a thimbleful of light will banish a roomful of darkness.
We must learn to see the desert for what it truly is: large,
but not at all great; a challenge, but certainly no cause
for awe.
A Questing Age
A second characteristic of the closing years of galut
is that it is a time of "thirst without water."
Ours is a generation which thirsts for the truth, thirsts
for meaning and purpose in life. But the water to quench this
thirst, the knowledge to sate these questing souls, is elusive
to them, sealed behind barriers of ignorance and alienation.
But the thirst is there, awaiting satisfaction. A generation
is prepared to drink, if only they would be provided with
the water they know not where to seek.
Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Eikev 5717 (1957)[2]
Adapted from the teachings of the Rebbe by Yanki Tauber
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[2] . Likkutei Sichot, vol. II, pp. 372-374.
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